


After Moscow

by Keiko Kirin (sakana17)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-15
Updated: 2002-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/pseuds/Keiko%20Kirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An "Absolute Power" A/U.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Moscow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Shanilka, finally.

Moscow's gone. Good riddance. And Jack belongs to me.

He knows it, and I think he knew it before I did. When I pressed the button, he didn't look surprised, only disappointed. That's when I knew he was mine.

I have things to do. I make a show for the staff and have Jack carried out to the underground "guest" rooms. In my mind I see Jaffa dragging him away. It's a memory I have, from Shyla's planet.

I see to it he's treated well, but when things calm down and I have the luxury of visiting him, I know what to expect. He's still disappointed, not surprised. I tell him he's free to go.

He grimaces and asks, "Go where?" He's thought this through.

"Then you're free to stay," I say. I've thought this through, as well. "Help me fight the Goa'uld. Help me get rid of them."

"And then what?"

"And then you can finally retire."

He smiles grimly. It's a look I know so well. It's a look I've seen so often on him I find it attractive. The smile never reaches his eyes, which burn coldly. It's this look that broadcasts his intelligence, his unhappiness, his cynicism. This is my Jack, not the willful brat who plays stupid.

He never answers me verbally, but that smile was answer enough. As I turn to go, he asks me, "How many more cities have you destroyed?"

"None," I reply truthfully. "I didn't need to."

\-----

At night I dream of him. In palaces of red and gold and burning braziers and jewelled eyes that watch us. We're fighting, in ways we've never fought in waking life. He punches my face and blood sprays from my mouth, across a golden floor. I knock him down and send him sliding into a marble throne. When I straddle him to bang his head against it, he throws me off and tries to strangle me. I feel all of his strength in his hands, crushing my throat, and for a moment, I know he can do it.

When I wake up, I'm hard as stone and gasping for breath.

\-----

Jack's not an easy ally. He raises an eyebrow when I take him back to SGC, which my people secured for me with little difficulty. He stands back, arms folded across his chest, as I go over plans for attacks on Goa'uld strongholds. He says nothing as I introduce him to the international teams of recruits ready to go out into the field.

And just when I've decided I will tolerate his silence, he contradicts me.

We're standing around the briefing table, and I'm sending my best people out to blow up a Goa'uld weapons factory. Jack interrupts me, points out the flaws in my plan, and takes over the meeting. When it's over, and we're alone, I tell him, "This is why I wanted you with me."

He doesn't smile. "Is that what you tell yourself?" He's angry.

I just smile at him. His anger is a drug to me now, reminding me of so many times, of so many things. It reaches deep, soothing and enticing.

This is the moment when I tell him I want him to oversee our offensive attacks. I need his expertise and stragetic mind.

He smirks. "What? You don't have all the answers?"

That's bait we both know I won't rise to. I say, "I'm so busy with homeworld defense, I don't have the time. I could really use you."

"You always could."

Again, he doesn't verbally accept my offer, but I have my answer. I give Jack the command structure he needs, and he does a good job. The only ground rule is that he can't go offworld, and I take certain precautions to make sure he doesn't try to bend that rule. While he's busy neutralizing several minor system lords for me, I quietly eliminate the Tok'ra threat using the shadow operation I inherited from NID. At last, things are getting better in this galaxy.

But I'm still dreaming of him at night, and the dreams become darker and more violent. I always awake aroused.

\-----

He brings me a captured mothership. He has his team land it on an old USAF airstrip in New Mexico. A sign that he never lost his sense of humor. He's quietly proud, and I'm proud of him. It's a huge ship. We can use it.

To celebrate, I give us both a day off, and we explore the ship. This is not what Jack wants to do on his day off, but he shows up nevertheless. It's typical Goa'uld: red and gold and black, braziers, hieroglyphics, and a marble throne. I think of my dreams as I watch him hop onto the throne.

Among the endless cargo holds we find a wardrobe room, and I'm inwardly embarrassed at myself for being attracted to those gaudy clothes. I find a long, jewel-encrusted red robe and hold it up to him. He would look marvellous in these clothes.

We also find a sarcophagus, and I have to touch it. Run my hands along its edge and renew my acquaintance with this old friend. Jack watches me. Not surprised, disappointed. I decide to have the sarcophagus sent to my house. It's such a useful thing to have.

In the same room we find a hand device. I slip the ribbon over my wrist and slide my fingers into the gold-naqada tips. It feels so right to wear this. The weight of the jewel in my palm rests naturally, as if made for me. The tips fit perfectly. It's a beautiful object.

Jack looks disapproving. It's the end of the day, he tells me, and he wants to go home. I stretch my hand out and touch him with golden fingertips. He stands very still and lets me. I touch his cheek and lips, and skim my fingers to his neck. For a split second, I flash on an image of beaming power from my palm, of Jack kneeling before me, crumpling in pain. But the image changes, and it is Jack standing before me, wearing the device, projecting its power at me, and I am on my knees, helpless.

I drop my hand and stare at the jewel in my palm. Would Jack send himself to me through the hand device, the way Sha're did?

I take the hand device with me when we leave.

\-----

Jack wants to go offworld badly. He's starting to push against his cage. He spends every spare moment in the mothership, flying it over the desert, learning it. For fun he takes one of the death gliders out for a spin. Still a flyboy at heart. I almost feel sorry for him.

I have them send the clothes with the sarcophagus. I set aside the red jewelled robe and find an interesting black outfit made of a material Earth has no name for. It's warm and shiny and glistens as if wet. While Jack is out flying over the desert, I put on the leggings, the boots, and the ankle-length robe, and I know I'm beautiful. I slip the hand device over my fingers. Pictures flash in my mind: I'm kneeling in front of Jack. First he's killing me with the hand device, then I'm swallowing his cock, choking on it while I'm sucking him dry. When he comes, his eyes glow.

\-----

I tell Jack we'll discuss going offworld. He knows I'll never agree, but he shows up anyway. I wait in the darkest room of the house, and I feel fever hot. When he walks in, he folds his arms over his chest and says, "I wondered when you would get around to this." Not surprised, not disappointed, not disapproving. He looks patient. I've been blind. He's belonged to me forever.

I take him upstairs and show him the clothes. I stand behind him and tell him I wore the black outfit. I can't keep my hands still, so I reach under his shirt and touch his back, run them over his stomach and chest.

"I'm not putting that on," he says, nodding at the red robe. I knew he wouldn't.

"You don't have to," I say, and I sink my teeth into his earlobe, enough to break the skin.

When we're naked, I push him onto the bed, over the red robe. It's covered in jewels. I know it hurts. He slides back, staring at me as I straddle him. He arches his back, reaches under, and pulls the robe open. When he sinks back, he sinks into it. I was right: he looks wonderful in it.

I don't need to tell him, to give him permission. He already knows. In that moment, I think he knew long before I did, and instead of infuriating me, this thought frees me. I inhale it and get high. He grabs my hips and digs his fingers into my flesh and thrusts his cock inside me. Impales me, kills me, sets me free.

Afterward, he's lying beside me, on his stomach, and looking away. I put on the hand device and caress his back with metal fingers. He's skin and bone and hard muscle, and he's beautiful because he belongs to me. I touch him for a long time -- hours, days, years, I can't keep track of Earth time anymore -- until he rises up on his knees and spreads his legs for me. I enter him slowly, and let him peel my hand out of the gold ribbon. He kisses my naked fingers, and I fuck him gently, like he could break in two.

I fall asleep wrapped around him, and I dream of Jack piercing the back of my neck with a Goa'uld torture weapon, until burning light that scrapes like broken glass pours from my mouth and eyes. All the while I'm crying with happiness, because I know I can't survive.

Jack is still underneath me when I wake up. I wasn't sure he would be. I enjoy touching his body for a while -- until he comes in my hand -- and then I tell him I'm letting him go offworld, letting him take the mothership to the trap we've set for Heru-Ur and Apophis. He smiles at me -- his grim, quiet smile -- and doesn't verbally agree to go or promise to come back.

\-----

When he returned, I wore the black outfit.

(the end)


End file.
